see you
Writing a novel is such a task
words found somewhere on the bottom of a tin flask
one last drop to tie me over
give me luck with a fake four leaf clover.
The dead trees still live
on the icy snow
we pass the farms, the homes
trying to let the feelings go
but they knock
they hum
like the sounds of this train or a long lost battle drum
on a bumpy ride or a field of dead
drink coffee and hide
behind Gatsby’s bed
or samples of another book
about people I never knew
or ones that I want to meet
so I write
on this train
on my feet
on a chair
in my head
up the musical stairs
as long as I paid the fare.
Did you miss my words?
all these crying kids
buy sour cream and onion chips
and then the mirror on…
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Honey, you are hands down my favorite poet. I can’t really even express how amazing I feel you are. Your words ebb and flow so perfectly. Before I die I wish to be in a room where are you are, to write in the presence of such depth and talent. Love to you Chrissy. You inspire me
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I will meet you one day. xx Thank you my lovely girlfriend crush x
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That is the loveliest thought. Thank you :)) xoxo
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My pleasure 😘
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